


The Fated Era

by Blacksquirrel



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F, Mind Control, Misses Clause Challenge, Possession, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacksquirrel/pseuds/Blacksquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A force stirring beneath the Ash's keep sees an opportunity to free two spirits and turn the wheel of fate.  Bo and Lauren become conduits for reunion, communion, and transformation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fated Era

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ampersandand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ampersandand/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta revolutionaryjo. Thanks for always being there :)
> 
> This is a complicated one to warn for. If you're particularly sensitive to shades of coerced sex, group sex, and/or voyeurism, you might give this one a miss, but none of those are straight-forwardly the case. Basically, wacky fae hijinks make them do it, but it's Bo/Lauren - they're pretty flexible.

_The chambers nestled within the darkest depths of the Ash's keep are beyond number.  So winding are the crooked passageways beneath the cellars and catacombs that no Ash has ever known all the treasures and traps secreted there.  I do not live in the very darkest depths, but I have long lain waiting in shadows for my chance to return light to the Light.  I need only one curious passerby to come prying into a forgotten corner, for one servant to stumble while retrieving a relic, or for one Ash to imagine that my power no longer holds sway._

 _And what is that I see?  Do the shadows at last retreat?  What is that I hear?  Do footfalls echo along the halls?  My chance to set the wheels of fortune spinning may approach once again._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day, another détente.  Watching the Ash slither out of providing a straight answer about yet another of his little freelance jobs fed the banked hunger inside of Bo.  It made her lips and fingertips ache with the increasing desire to pull, to suck, to taste just a little nibble of his life.  A minute, an hour, a year would taste so sweet on her tongue.  The desire grew ever more alluring the longer she had to hear him twisting the truth as he asked her to risk her life once again for whatever agenda he hid in his heart.  She was sure that if she pulled hard enough she could taste his true desires and hold them in her mouth, deciding whether to breathe them back to life or to eat the very heart of him.  She smiled and the chill of it froze his lying lips for a moment before the usual platitudes resumed.

Yet just as she was about to swallow her hunger and accept the job as a play to investigating what was really going on, like any other day, every muscle in her body tensed.  The whole room felt heavy as the Ash paused in mid-sentence and every sentry stood stock still in their posts.  Without thought, without purpose, she felt her body surge across the room.  A frenzy of anxiety gripped her as she searched and searched the suits of armor lined up against the far wall. / _Where has it gone?  Where have they taken it?_ /  Relief crashed over her, soothing and immediate as she grasped the chain mail glove covering the last suit's steel hand.  The undeniable rightness of holding it allayed any nagging doubts / _what's happening?/_ or worries _/what am I doing?_ / tapping against the swell of momentum that propelled her forward.  As she strode back toward the throne, every step only increased the sense of cosmic rightness, and every relationship, every accomplishment, every pleasure faded in comparison to the righteously fulfilling moment when she flung the gauntlet at the Ash's feet.

The clatter of steel against stone shattered the eerie stillness, evaporating the heavy fog of presence from her mind.  Bo trembled in disgust as the last sickly cloying slimy tendrils of pressure receded from the corners of her thoughts, blinking up at the equally rattled Ash whose hands shook in obvious agitation.  As if still directed by that foreign presence, both turned to stare at the gauntlet on the floor, neither entirely trusting that the spell had dissipated.

"So, it's begun then," the Ash growled.  “You have one day to ready yourself for the trial.”

Bo sighed, “Something tells me that that the fae don’t provide public defenders.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trick poured a shot as he explained, “Not trial by jury, trial by combat,” to the hastily assembled group.  Passing the drink to Bo he apologetically suggested, “Here, you may need this.”

“Whoa,” Bo protested, blocking the shot glass’s path across the bar with her palm.  “Why the sudden lack of faith in my ability to survive the wackiest skeletons in the fae closet?”

Trick shook his head.  “It’s not the fight I’m worried about – it’s the prize.”

Frowning, Dyson asked, “If the prize is so dangerous, should she forfeit, or purposely lose?”

“It’s not that easy,” Trick replied.

Rolling her eyes Bo noted, “It never is.”

 “No one knows what triggers The Fated Era Trial,” Trick continued, “but once invoked nothing can avert its course.  One champion challenges the Ash for the right to make one demand, and the Ash appoints a champion to fight in his place.  The fight is to the death, and if the first champion survives, he or she  may ask for anything and the Ash must grant the request.”

After taking a contemplative sip of his tea, Hale prompted, “And the catch?”

Shaking his head and wiping his rag a bit more harshly against the bar Trick explained, “Whatever force controls the trial will only accept a very specific kind of demand from the champion.  It is thought by many that should the champion choose wisely, the Fated Era Trial could bring about a complete renewal of fae society, and usher in a golden age.  Some argue that the trial produced the most peaceful and prosperous years in our history.”

Dyson nodded gravely in understanding.  “But should the champion choose an unwise demand…”

Trick nodded in return and fixed Bo with a solemn stare, “Then at the moment of giving voice to the demand, the champion ignites and burns to cinders in a matter of seconds.”

“Harsh!” Kenzi exclaimed incredulously, leaning down from her perch on the bar to simultaneously pat Bo’s hand and snatch the forgotten shot, which she immediately threw back.  Poking Trick’s shoulder she asked, “So, what’s the secret?  What kind of demand does she have to make?”

Trick gaped at Kenzi’s finger, shook his head as if to disperse a hallucination, then gaped again when the poking continued.  Finally recoiling from the assault, he batted her hand away to deliver the unwelcome news, “No one knows.  There are only records of unsuccessful Fated Era Trials, but no details of the unsuccessful demands.  Some records indicate that writing the details of the trial will cause the paper to spontaneously combust, or even cause stone tablets to disintegrate into sand.  All that remains are vague legends which suggest that the champion must ask for something that will bring the fae closer to their best possible future.”

Kenzi groaned.  “Ok, that’s heavy.  And, if I may point out, totally unfair!  Haven’t you people heard of genies?  You’re supposed to be able to wish something nice for yourself, then take your magic beans or your golden goose and live a nice life.”  She made a swishy motion to illustrate a genie popping out of a bottle, or possibly the general ridiculousness of the fae’s inability to live according to the rules of Disney fairy tales.

“Ok, I’m open to suggestions,” Bo offered.  Leaning back in her chair, she asked everyone, “What would you ask for?”

Hale smoothed his tie in consideration, then lifted an eyebrow.  “The right to make my demand at a later date!” he suggested.

“Hmmm,” Trick considered.  “I don’t think the force controlling the trial would accept that kind of attempt to circumvent the rules.”

“Could the champion end the animosity between the light and dark fae?” Dyson asked.

“Unfortunately no,” Trick responded.  “The demand must be within the Ash’s power to grant, and the Ash alone.  Therefore, the only possible transformation must come from within light fae society itself.”

“Oh my god!” Kenzi burst out, shattering the foreboding atmosphere.  She quickly covered her mouth as all eyes turned to her. “Sorry,” she squeaked, “I just realized that if it were me, I would be totally dead because I’d probably just ask for shoes.”  Bo cracked a smile and reached out to squeeze Kenzi’s hand.  Kenzi’s eyes lit up, “Oh!  If you can ask for anything, you could demand to *be* the Ash!  That would totally change the course of the fae’s future!”

“I suspect,” Trick interjected, “that the request must not be selfish – so both shoes and absolute power are probably out.”

“Wow,” Bo noted glumly, “you would all be dead.  That doesn’t seem reassuring.”

Trick leaned his forearms on the bar and held Bo’s gaze.  “You have a good heart,” he soothed.  “I suspect that if you look there, you’ll find your answer.”

Bo breathed deeply, squeezed Kenzi’s hand one more time, then stood and zipped her jacket.  “I think I have one more person I have to see,” she said, and nodded to her friends before leaving of the bar’s safe haven and walking outside into the growing darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bo placed her hand on the heavy wood door for a moment, absently stroking the knots and grooves etched into it with age as she considered what she might find on the other side.  A part of her did not want to know what kind of room might be appointed to the Ash’s slave.  But, if Lauren could live there every day, she could face it as well, so Bo pulled on the thick iron handle and stepped inside.

The creak of the door was met by a gasp from Lauren where she sat in a window seat at the far side of the room.  Bo saw her skittishly rearrange her nightgown and shawl, so she averted her eyes to take in the room and shake her head incredulously.  A weak laugh drew her attention back to Lauren.

“A cage may as well be gilded,” Lauren said.

Bo shrugged as she moved to join Lauren on the window seat.  “Silk curtains, a four poster bed, and half a library were not quite what I pictured when I imagined you living under lock and key.”

Lauren attempted a smile that her eyes couldn’t agree with, and said, “There are perks to maintaining the Ash’s favor.”

“And terrible consequences to losing it?” Bo ventured quietly, but the words landed like a slap as Lauren recoiled, shuddered, and began to rub circles into the knuckles and wrist of her right hand, as if soothing an old ache.  Bo tried very hard to believe that living in a damp castle could be the only cause of aching joints in a woman so young, and reached for her, holding Lauren’s hands in her own.  She pushed pleasure through her fingertips, just a little, barely enough to feel, but a faint flush rose across the backs of Lauren’s hands, and in her cheeks.

Lauren cleared her throat and almost managed to speak steadily, if much faster than usual. “I heard about the trial tomorrow.  What are you doing here?  You should rest.”

Bo let go of Lauren’s hands, but began to trace her right wrist instead, forming a line from the delicate underside of the wrist to the crease of the forearm, pushing little sparks of awareness there.  “I have a very important question to ask you,” she said.  Speaking the words jangled through her mind, because they reminded her that there was a serious purpose behind this visit, yet she could not still her hands. She scoured her thoughts for that slimy feeling of some other presence in her mind and found it, small, nearly imperceptible, but implacable.  Still her hands moved on Lauren’s arm, still a glow grew in her cheeks, and Bo could not stop.  She gasped and with all the focus she could muster forced out, “Something- something is controlling me.  There’s something in my head – the same thing that made me throw down the gauntlet this morning.”  With a last force of will Bo stilled her hands and begged, “Run!  I may not be able to control myself.  I could drain you.”

“My champion would not hurt me,” Lauren said, reaching out to caress Bo’s cheek.  Then with a visible shiver her eyes cleared for a moment and she said, “It’s too late.  It’s inside me too.  If I focus I can sense that I’m not fully in control, but then it slips away from me like smoke.  It hurts- I-“

“Lauren!” Bo grasped her shoulders and held her as Lauren's body shook, then stilled.  When at last she looked up again, Lauren's eyes were black.  “Lauren,” Bo called again, and her voice broke with the effort of resisting the pressure building at the back of her mind.

“Yes,” the woman in front of her said quietly, “I am still myself, but there is someone here with me, someone sad and sweet and hopeful.”  Bo tried to shake her head, but her neck no longer answered to her.  She tried to pull away from the hand now tracing her lips, but nothing happened.

“Give in, Bo,” the woman said.  “They don’t want to hurt us, only to guide us, and to feel again, however fleetingly.”

Bo’s head throbbed and the room grew brighter around her.  She tried to grit her teeth, to hold on to some piece of herself, but everything she reached for vanished like smoke, except for the body of the woman in front of her.  Her hands allowed her to reach for Lauren’s form, so she wrapped herself around the woman she thought she could love, as the cold pressure engulfed her completely.

But she still remained.

Tentatively she reached out to it, and found that now it had settled, there was no more pain, no more pressure, no disgusting slithering.  Instead, a warm feeling of fullness and companionship bloomed through the back of her skull, pouring contentment down her spine.  Being alone suddenly seemed completely foreign, and everything that came before Kenzi and the fae seemed a like another lifetime entirely.  They ran their hands down Lauren’s back and reveled in her sighs of approval.  “Lady, it’s been so long,” they said, and Bo pulled back just far enough so that they could all kiss.

Bo teased little sparks of life into their lips, pushing bursts of pleasure across their tongues.  Lauren arched against her, but her smile tasted wistful.

“At last you found me again,” Lauren whispered into their kiss.  “At last we’re together and free.”

Bo’s hand found the strand of gold at her neck and they replied, “No, not quite free.  Who dares keep you from me?”

Lauren’s sad smile echoed through Bo’s mind, and as she said, “The Ash.  You know I can’t leave him,” Bo felt a very old conversation rattle against the threads of a new one, the phantom tangle of old loves threaded through the strands of new loves.

“I will free you, Lady” they both promised.

Lauren laughed and slipped out of her arms, trailing one lingering finger down Bo’s side to grasp her hand and pull her to her feet.  “You know I was never a Lady,” she said with a coy tilt of her head.  She led Bo across the room, trailing her shawl behind her.

Unfastening the necklace and setting it out of sight, Bo followed Lauren to the bed and toppled them both into its feathery depths.  “You are always a lady to me,” she replied, and then there was no more need for words.

Bo peeled away Lauren’s nightgown and then found her lips in an increasingly frantic kiss as her fingers fumbled the enclosure at her back.  She breathed in and took back the energy she’d fed Lauren before, spinning it slowly and savoring the rich depths that living within Lauren’s spirit for only those few minutes had already imparted.  Beneath her Lauren writhed and Bo felt her passenger’s astonishment at this gift.  The energy wasn’t the same as it had been with Dyson.  Then she just fed and fed until every part of her sparkled with electricity.  With a human, she had to be more creative, but this discipline could become even more satisfying in its own way, as each energy transfer heightened the tension within her.  Tossing Lauren’s bra to the side, Bo sent little showers of pleasure dancing across Lauren’s nipples, pushing then pulling with her fingertips and lips, interspersing sharp little nips of her teeth in between.  With every cycle she could feel herself diving deeper into the depths of her lover, could taste the edges of happy memories, roll the turning points of Lauren’s life over her tongue.  As she gave back, she could see recognition bloom in Lauren’s eyes as well, knew that in the rush of draining herself she also gave memories: the first time she played dress-up, the smell of her mother’s apple pie, the comfort of Kenzi’s hugs, the frisson of anticipation when she’d first seen the Ash’s human doctor.

Lauren clung to her and soundlessly mouthed “more,” so Bo placed her palm flat against Lauren’s chest over her heart, and plunged deeper still.  Her skin tingled as she savored Lauren’s curiosity, felt Lauren’s passion for knowledge sizzle along her scalp, and felt engulfed by Lauren’s loyalty.  Then in a whoosh she let go of her own protectiveness, possessiveness, and desire for connection, arching her back into the rush of vulnerable openness as bits of herself drained out.

Full to bursting with the light of Bo’s energy Lauren began to frantically pull at Bo’s clothes.  “Your eyes are burning blue,” Lauren said with all the wonder of her passenger seeing it for the first time.  “I can feel you everywhere inside of me.”  Lauren rolled on top of her and nibbled uncoordinated, frenzied kisses at her neck.  “How do I give it back?” Lauren pleaded.  “It’s too much.  I need, I need, I need-”

Bo guided Lauren’s hand between her legs, and as Lauren teased and caressed her she shuddered, reveling in the delicious ache of anticipation.  Every part of her screamed to be filled and she could already taste the hard rush of it pushing back into her, but at the same time knowing that it was her energy, her essence that lit Lauren up and sent her to the very edge of ecstatic frenzy made her wish she could lay here forever, gaping open and empty, yet also completely cocooned within the body of her lover.

The moment Lauren’s fingers found their way inside of her they both keened and shook, eyes locked in shared bliss.  The enormity of the energy pulsing between their bodies overwhelmed pleasure, thought, and self.  For that endless ecstatic moment she was both Bo and Lauren, both the Lady and the champion.  As they lay panting in the tangled silk sheets, slowly coming back to themselves, Bo could sense the presence silently recede, but this time it felt neither slippery nor alien as she did not fight its passage.

When at last she was herself alone, Bo felt tears welling up at the corner of her eyes and had to bite her tongue to hold them back.  The limits of her skin, still pleasantly tingling, seemed impossibly constraining and from the whimper beside her, she could guess that Lauren was experiencing the same withdrawal. 

“Wow,” she ventured, even though her voice sounded so small, now that it was once again hers alone.  She reached out a hand to reconnect, even if in so limited a manner.

But Lauren was already sitting up, pulling on her nightgown and hunching in on herself.  “You need to go,” she said.  “You need to rest before the trial.”

Bo pulled her hand back, stung.  “You think I could rest after that?” she asked incredulously.  “You’re telling me you’re not still lit up like a Christmas tree?”

Lauren did not turn to look at her.  Instead she continued on, “I expect that you came here for advice on what to demand from the Ash when you survive?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Bo insisted.  She crawled to the end of the bed and held Lauren’s dejected shoulders, trying in vain to turn her and see her face.  “Trick told me to follow my heart and look where it led me.  I’m asking for you – for your freedom.”

"Please stop," Lauren sobbed.  "You know I can't leave while he still has Nadia.  Even if I weren't his slave, I would stay.  Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Bo stilled and a suspicion formed.  Slowly she ventured, “And if there was no Nadia, and you weren’t his slave, would you still stay?  Would you be happy here?”

Lauren shook her head.  “Why bother considering it?”

“Just think about it for a second for me,” Bo pleaded.  “I need to know.

Lauren sighed and dabbed at the edges of her eyes with the back of her hand.  “I suppose,” she considered, “that the fae are inherently fascinating.  Even if there were no Nadia, or if Nadia and I were both healthy and free, I would probably still like studying and treating the fae, yes.  If I’m completely honest with myself, aside from worrying over her welfare I enjoyed the sense of accomplishment this job gives me.”  Then she sniffled and shook her head, withdrawing from the bed to find the table where Bo had left the symbol of her servitude.  Refastening the necklace, she said, “This is my life now.  Forever.  Please don’t ask me to dream.”

“Oh Lady,” Bo sighed, standing and circling the bed, completely unashamed of her nudity.  Standing before Lauren she laid her hands over the weighty little chain.  Holding on to every moment of closeness she’d soaked up since her strange arrival in the fae world, she insisted, “Don’t ask me not to dream.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soaked in sweat and blood, bruised and dazed but alive, Bo knelt before the furious Ash, presenting the head of his champion.

“Very well,” he intoned, his lip curled in disdain. “Name your demand.”

Fear flooded her battered body, and for one crazy moment Bo considered asking for shoes.  But then she closed her eyes and felt that glorious moment when the passenger recognized his lady through her, and the feeling of feeding herself to Lauren, of feeling herself held safe inside of Lauren’s mind.  She looked in her heart and those moments spoke of both recognition and freedom.

“I demand that from this day forward, the Light fae will no longer kill or enslave humans,” Bo shouted and she could tell that the presence amplified her voice, and the rightness of the demand echoed not only within her own heart, but within another.

 _Yet still she waited – waited for judgment and waited for her bones to ignite and carry her into eternity.  But this request I would grant.  Selfishness might have seasoned this champion’s demand, but its scope and reach would temper the Light fae’s excesses and bring them back in line with their true destiny to live in peaceful symbiosis with those upon whom they feed.  I will grant this champion’s demand, and I will watch as her era blossoms._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not in the very darkest depths, but deep within the Ash’s keep lies a box in a cluttered room.  It sits on its side, a bit ajar, and one could easily see how a careless servant could have jostled it out of place while retrieving or depositing something else.  Yet, to the careful observer, the lock on this box could not have opened purely by chance.  Some hand must have set the wheels of fate spinning, even if that hand could not guide its ultimate destination.

Trick smiled to himself as he righted the box and shut the lid with an echoing click.  Laying his hand flat across the box’s top where a painting depicted a knight and lady, separated by the branches of a great ash tree, Trick whispered, “I hope that you may find rest, my friends.  Until next time.”

Then he covered the box with a cloth, closed the door, and stepped out of the dungeons and into the light.


End file.
